Catch and Release
by Karevsanatomy
Summary: AU There is nothing worse than finding out the man you love is not who you thought he was. Izzie learns to deal with a confusing mess of emotions, learns forgiveness, and finds herself along the way. Denny/Izzie, Alex/Izzie, Lexzie, Dizzie
1. Chapter 1

-1

_I hate you. Right now, I hate you so much for leaving me. No. That isn't true. I think I hate myself more. I hate myself for not telling you how much I loved you before you left. I let you leave thinking I was angry with you. I was angry. So angry over something so stupid. I should have wrapped my arms around you, kissed you, told you that I loved you. Instead, I yelled. I told you that you were selfish. I pouted like a child because you had left me to decide where the hell we were suppose to seat your mother's bridge club._

The van was white. There was nothing on the side facing the house to tell who it belonged to. She knew. The woman standing in front of the large picture window, sipping glass after glass of champagne knew. Another delivery from the florist. The center pieces. They had forgotten them yesterday.

Yesterday. Had it really been just yesterday since she had run out to meet that very van, eyes sparkling with excitement? It seemed more like a lifetime ago. Today it was the maid meeting the florist. The moment the news was delivered was clear. The florists face went pale, his lips moved in a silent 'I'm sorry.' Even from inside she wanted to scream at him that he wasn't sorry. He didn't know Denny. How could he be sorry?

_I hate the way they all keep telling me their sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Like the words are suppose to mean something. Like by saying it they fix the hole in my heart. I know most of them only say it because they don't know what else to say. _

"I'm so sorry Isobel."

Another murmured apology. In another setting she would have forced a smile. There was no point today. The only expectation of her was to look the part of the grieving fiancé. Not exceptionally difficult, as that was exactly what she was. From bride to be to grieving fiancé. Looking at her hand, she twists the princess cut solitaire on her left ring finger. It had been in the Duquette family for seven generations.

_My feet hurt. I wore the black pointy Jimmy Choo's. You know the one's. You use to call them Witch shoes. I don't even know why I wore them. Except they look so good with my black Vera Wang dress. It's the same one I wore to that cocktail party last month. When I told you I wanted a reason to wear the outfit again, I didn't mean something like this. _

More apologies. Relatives this time. A seventy something aunt with a bird like appearance sobbing and dabbing at her eyes. A well meaning cousin offering to buy the honeymoon from her. Glancing across the crowded foyer, her eyes meet Mrs. Duquette's. The older woman had aged by twenty years over night. Had there been that much gray in her hair yesterday?

Another relative. This one the sort to touch. She tries to back up a bit. The man crowded closer. Joined by more well meaning people who issued more I'm sorry's.

_You left me! I still can't believe you left me. Two days before our wedding and you have to die. You have to die and leave me to deal with your Uncle Richard. You know how I feel about him. He's always touching me. Like now. He keeps rubbing my arms. He even tried to kiss my cheek once. _

Breaking free, she hurries across the foyer. Her heels click against the hardwood floor as she rushes up the curving stair case. Grabbing the handle of the closest door she yanks it open, stumbling inside. She closes the door, then leans against it. The guest bathroom. Pure whit with the exception of the black and white patterned tile on the floor. Shoving away from the door, she walks toward the large bathtub. The silk shower curtain felt like liquid as she pulls it back. She steps into the tub, pulling the curtain back. Sliding down the tiled wall, she silently sobs.

_I've become the pathetic girl who hides. I don't know what else to do. I couldn't take anymore. I hate funerals. You know how much I hate funerals. You had some nerve, Denny. Forget the fact that we were suppose to be getting married, you knew how much I hate funerals, yet you die anyways. _

The bathroom door opens. She sits up, uncertainty written across her face. Did she tell them she was here? No. They would only tell her they were sorry. Better to let them go about their business and leave. Better that nobody know where she was.

"You are so cute," a woman giggled.

The sound of clothing rustling brings a flush to her face. Her mouth poises to make her presence known before things progress much further. Another giggle followed by a moan has her leaning back, a hand covering her mouth. Son of a bitch. Who had sex at a funeral?

_I blame you for this! I'm already going to have to go to therapy because you had the nerve to die right before our wedding. But this? This is going to scar me for life! _

"You are just….wow…amazing…and so cute!" The woman was gushing.

Another little giggly moan. The curtain swishes a bit as something hits it. An arm or a foot. It didn't matter. She raises a hand up to still it. Her hand falls back as there is more rustling around. Another giggle. The woman had to hold some record for giggling.

"Wow. We'll so have to do this again sometime!" The woman giggled. Again. It really was irritating. "Call me sometime! Here, gimme your hand. I'll give you my number."

A moment later the door opened, then shut. Finally! Standing, her hand grips the edge of the curtain, pulling back as the sound of water fills the room. What little blood was left in her face drained as the startled hazel eyes of her dead fiance's best friend meet her angry brown one's.

"Izzie…"

Ignoring him, she steps out of the tub. Chin raised, tears burning her eyes, she walks out of the bathroom.

_I will never understand how you could be friends with someone like Alex Karev!_


	2. Chapter 2

-1

1The office was a typical law office. Dark wood furniture. Framed law degree from Harvard. Book shelf after book shelf of thick books. If she hadn't known the woman behind the desk was a lawyer she would have guessed the profession based off her appearance alone. Dark red hair scraped back in an elegant chignon, black tailored pants suit that screamed Armani, subtle make up. The woman was all business.

"You realize that you were named executive of the estate?"

Slowly, she nodded her head. It had been almost a year ago she had sat in this very chair with the same woman behind the same desk as Denny dictated the various aspects of his will.

_Did you know? Did you have some inkling that you were going to die? Is that why you did it? You realize I have to change mine now. I don't have any clue who I'm suppose to name. How could you do this me? How could leave me alone to deal with this? _

"I know this isn't easy for you, so if you would like some help dealing with his affairs…" The lawyer's voice trailed off. Addison Forbes-Montgomery her name plate read. A name that inspired confidence in her ability to do her job.

"I'll be fine," Izzie murmurs. Fine. Would she? Would she be fine? She had to be. It wasn't as though she had a choice in the matter.

"Alright then. The only thing that seems to have lose ends is an account with Webber Investments. The annual interest rates have been around $48,000 each year."

$48,000? Denny didn't even make that a year. Simple. That was how he liked things, that was how he lived. "Are you sure it's Denny's?" There had to be a mistake of some sorts. Denny couldn't have that sort of money. He would have told her. Wouldn't he? Yes. He told her everything. They told each other everything.

"There is no mistake Miss Stevens. The account belongs to one Dennison Duquette the Third. It was opened four years ago with a sum of $1.5 million and has grossed an interest of $48,000 each year since." Addison slid the papers toward her.

She stared at them, almost afraid to pick them up. Denny had kept this from her. "I didn't know…I mean what am I suppose to do…" Clutching the light gray tote bag she carried everywhere, Izzie fought back the panic that threatened to consume her. "This can't be his. I mean…he doesn't live like this. He doesn't keep secrets. He has two roommates! Or well he did. We got a rental not to long ago. He hadn't moved in yet, but…this isn't his! I would know. I would know."

Addison sighed. "I'm sorry. I know this can't be easy. The account is his though. There is no doubt that. I looked into it myself. Which reminds me, each month a total of $3,000 is transferred to another account. I wasn't able to obtain the information as to where the account is or who it belonged to. I'm sorry."

Sorry. There was that damn word again. She was sick of sorry. Clutching the papers, Izzie mumbles a thank you before rising. Stuffing the papers into her tote, she blindly walks from the office.

_No secrets. You were the one who said we shouldn't have secrets between each other. Yet, you kept this from me! Something this huge, and you kept it from me. It makes me wonder what else you kept from me. I hate wondering that about you! I just want to remember the man I love, not worry about the secrets you were keeping._


	3. Chapter 3

-1A neighbors dog barked through the fence, somewhere two kids laughed and yelled at one another, the hammock made a soft scrapping noise as it swayed to and fro, scratching against the porch railing. Some familiar everyday noises. It could have been any day. It wasn't just any day though. It was the day after. It was what would have been her wedding day.

_I would have been your wife by now if you had just had the sense to stay alive. I wouldn't be forced to deal with your estate. Estate. I had thought it was just a generic term for a person's belongings after they died. At least that is what I thought in your case. How could you keep it from me Denny? How could you keep something like that from me?_

The keys were where they always were. In the old urn painted to look like a light house that sat rusting next to the hammock. Heart beating wildly, she unlocked the door. As expected, the house was silent. Tears blurred her vision as she spotted a string of ribbons on the finial at the end of the banister. She walks toward the stairs, then tangles her fingers in the ribbons. Paper flowers hung from the end of each one. Meredith had made it for her. A bouquet of sorts for the rehearsal dinner. Four nights ago. She had hung them there herself, laughing at the silly girly touch in the bachelor pad. A hint for George and Preston. One they wouldn't get. She was a bit surprised the ribbons were still there.

Sighing, she looks in the direction of Denny's room. It wasn't intended to be a bedroom. Just off the living room, two sliding doors separating it, most likely the builder had envisioned a den of sorts. Extra space for entertaining. Crossing her arms, she pauses outside the doors. They were closed. Had they been closed the day she had said goodbye? She couldn't remember. Not that it mattered. Preston or George had most likely slid them closed.

She took a deep breath, reaching for the little indentations that served as handles. "You can do this," she whispers. Letting the breath out slowly she slides the door open. The room smelled of his cologne. Everywhere she looked were reminders of him, of his life. The framed photos on the wall from his various fishing trips. Ratty running shoes kicked carelessly to the side after a long jog. A suitcase packed in anticipation of their honeymoon. Fighting the urge to cry, she crosses her arms again. Self comfort. She had no idea where to start. What was she suppose to do with his belongings?

A groan from the bed had her gasping, a hand flying to her racing heart. The maroon and cream striped comforter moves. A tan back with an eagle tattoo on the right shoulder blade comes into view, as does the waist band of navy blue boxers. Her eyes narrow. "What the hell are you doing here?" She hisses.

One hazel eye peers at her from under the pillow. "I was sleeping," Alex mumbled. The pillow fell to the floor as he sat up. Muscles rippled as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Yeah. I can see that. What are you doing here though? In Denny's bed. You have no right to be here. None!" Hysteria threatened to consume her. This was Denny's room. His bed. She needed it to stay that way. She needed to picture him lying next to her, not his arrogant ass of a friend catching a few winks between one night stands. "Just…get out! Get out now!"

"Alright. Fine. I'm going." The comfort as thrown back, landing in a heap on the floor. His long body slides off the mattress, dragging the corner of the sheet with him.

"Shouldn't you go back to Los Angles? I'm sure there are plenty of funerals to crash and caterers to screw." The blow was low. At this point she didn't care. She wanted him gone. Needed him gone. Looking at him made her sick. It wasn't fair. Denny was gone. Denny, a loving, kind man who thought more of others was gone. Dead. While as selfish ass like Alex Karev was alive. Alive and making everyone around him miserable.

"I decided not to take the film. Once you've done one you've done them all." The muscles of his back ripple as he tugs a pair of faded and ripped jeans on. Not bothering to button them, he reaches for a black t shirt. His head disappeared as he pulled the shirt on.

"Oh, so you look at work the way you do women." Another low blow. Another moment of disgust that he was here and Denny was gone. Unable to stand the site on him in a room that should been a place of solace for her, she grabs his arm. The skin was warm, soft. A tingle of sort runs up her arm. She lets his arm drop as quickly as she had touched it.

"You're funny," He tweaked her cheek in passing as he wonders from the room. She raises a hand to wipe his touch from her face. Her blood boils as he toys with the ribbons on the finial.

"Stop touching everything." Stepping between him and the ribbons, her arms cross over her chest once more. Denny's house. Denny's room. Denny's bed. He had ruined it all for her. Had ruined the sense of peace she had hoped to find.

"Kinda hard to not touch," Alex teased, tweaking her cheek once more. There was a sparkle in his eyes, a hint of a grin on his face. Bastard. He had the audacity to smile and crack jokes. As though they hadn't just held a memorial in Denny's honor. As though everything was okay. Nothing was okay.

"Why did you even come? You don't even act like you miss him." Grabbing the ribbons from the end of the stair case, she practically runs from the house. Later. She would come back later. To discuss the account. With George and Preston. Denny's real friends. Friends who didn't make a mockery of his death and memory.

_He wasn't really your friend was he? You didn't actually respect him did you? If so, I don't understand why. _


	4. Chapter 4

-1_was evicted. Can you believe it? Me. Evicted. I guess in all the chaos of your funeral and phoning everyone to tell them there would be no wedding I forgot to pay the rent. Along with a few other things. George and Preston said I could live them. Move into your old room. It's not going to be easy, you know? Living in your house, sleeping in your bed. I don't really have a choice though. Where else am I going to go? Your mother's? I suppose I could, but she didn't offer and I'm not going to ask._

We're going to put all my stuff in storage. Except for a few of the wedding gifts. Not sure what George wants with a blender or a waffle iron. At this point, I don't really care. There really isn't much for me to care about. I have to take pills to sleep. I have to remind myself to eat. If I didn't smell myself growing rank, I'm not sure I would remember to bathe. 

Take one an hour before bedtime. Guaranteed a good night sleep. Liars. For the last three weeks she had taken one an hour before bedtime, yet her guaranteed night of rest had yet to come. Night after night, she lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, sinking further into the abyss that had become her life. What was left for her? Nothing. Her parents had both died years ago, leaving her to be raised by an aging aunt who had passed on as well. Death was the story of her life.

_I've thought about it, you know. Taking pill after pill, until my eye lids are so heavy I can't keep them open. So heavy they never open again. I'm to scared though. I'm to much of a coward. _

A high pitched ring, the flash of a yellow light. Sitting up, she stares in the direction they had come from. Nothing. A figment of her imagination. No. Wait. There. Again. Throwing the bed covers back, Izzie slips her legs over the side of the bed. The wooden floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she padded toward what she referred to as the junk wall. It had been intended as a built in entertainment center, a complexity of shelves, cubbies, and drawers covering one whole wall.

After rummaging through some papers she located the source of noise and light. A cell phone. Anger heated her blood. Closing her fist around the slender phone, she shoves the doors open. Drawing back the fist that held the phone she chunked it at the man sleeping on the sofa's pull out. "You forgot something," she hissed. Bastard. He refused to leave. Why couldn't he just leave? Nobody wanted him here. Preston was as open with his hostility as she was. Only George treated the unwanted guest with some form of respect. "He was Denny's friend to," was his quiet response to why.

Alex peeked one eye open, wrinkling his brow. "Not my phone," he mumbled, turning toward the other side. The pullout groaned and creaked with protest.

Not his phone. It had to be. If not his then whose? Denny. "There were missed calls," she whispered. Hurrying across the room, she reached for the phone the moment Alex turned over.

"You know what, I think it might be my phone." Their hands brush as they both grab for the phone at the same time. Another tingle. Damn. Wrapping her fingers around the slender phone once more, she jerks her hand back. "I'm serious. I think it's my phone."

Pressing several buttons she finds the missed call log. All from the same number. A small icon in the right hand upper corner blinks. "There's messages," she breaths. Pandora's box. She was holding Pandora's box in the palm of her hand.

"Just give me the phone, Izzie," Alex held his hand out. He was standing next to her. She hadn't even realized he had climbed from the bed. The scent of sandalwood and something else assaulted her nostrils as he leaned closer, trying to pry the phone from her fingers.

"No. It isn't your phone. You said that. It isn't your phone. So it has to be…it isn't your phone. And I have a right to know. I was going to marry him, Alex. So, whatever it is he's hiding, I have a right to know."

Alex shook his head. "Did you ever think that maybe something's should just stay secret?"

Ignoring him, Izzie presses the various buttons to retrieve the missed messages.

"It's the third and the money isn't in the account. My landlord is starting to bug me about rent." "What's going? You haven't called. You haven't answered the phone. And the money still isn't showing up. You know how much we need that money." "What the heck is your problem Denny! You're the one who decided to be a part of our life! I didn't make you!" "F you Denny! F you! Not calling back. Not keeping your promises! You suck, you know that? So…just…F you!"

The woman's voice had been slightly husky, a sultry quality to it. She hadn't given any indication as to who she was, as to who the other person she was referring to was. Tears rolled down her cheeks. This time, when Alex pried the phone from her fingers Izzie didn't stop him. 


	5. Chapter 5

-11Obtaining the number hadn't been difficult. Alex wasn't the most secretive guy. Meaning he had tossed the phone in his duffle bag, left it on top for anyone to find. For her to find. Taking it hadn't really been an option. He would known it was her.

Staring at the number she had copied down, Izzie twirls a lock of pale blond hair around her index finger. Out of the corner of her eye she spots Bob, the man in the cubicle next to her staring. She flashes him a stiff smile, then resumes the stare at the post it. Unlike her, Bob was the perfect insurance rep. Always put together in a dull gray suit with a bland monotone tie. While the white and black floral sheath dress she wore wasn't inappropriate it wasn't exactly conducive to the image the company liked to present to customers.

She takes a deep breath, then using the number pad connected to her phone, she dials the number. After three rings the same woman from the night before comes on. "You know what I want, so why don't you give it me," she purrs. Mouth opening, Izzie hit's the end button.

"I'm sorry."

Frowning slightly, she looks in Bob's direction once more. "Thank you," she mumbled back. Sorry. When would people stop saying that? She was sick to death of sorry.

"My cousin had a friend who had the same thing happen to them. Well, not the same thing. The guy didn't drown on a fishing trip. He was snow boarding and the board came out from under him. Slit his jugular when it came down. Blood all over the snow. It ended up all over the side of the mountain cause you know…people were skiing and such."

Her stomach knots up. Reaching for her purse, she mumbles some excuse about not feeling well before hurrying from the office. She didn't slow her pace until she was several blocks away. Stopping to catch her breath, she pauses to look where her feet had carried her. The Emerald City Bar. Providence. As she needed a drink. A nice strong drink. Yanking the door open, she strides inside, not caring that she was out of place, not caring that people were staring.

"I need a drink.." She reads the bartenders name tag, "Joe. Something strong." Pulling a twenty from her purse, she slaps it on the bar. "Keep them coming and let me know when I need to pay more." The first of many shot glasses full of tequila was set before her.

Two hours later….

"Let me ask you something, Mark," Izzie smiled at the man sitting on the stool next to her's. Mark the plastic surgeon from Manhattan. In town for a medical conference. Sexy, with piercing blue eyes, and dimples. Her best friend Meredith would have called him a panty dropper, man candy at its finest. "If a woman told you 'You know what I want, so why don't you give it me?' What would you think?"

A slow, sexy grin spread across Mark's face. A finger reaches out, traces her collar bone. In her drunken haze, she forgot to be worried, forgot to think of what the words implied. Her only thought was Denny and his damn secrets. "I know exactly what give you."

"She doesn't want it."

Izzie looks up, scowling. "Go away," she slurs. "You're like everywhere. Are you stalking me? Do you like following me around or something?"

"Not really. You see Joe here, he's a friend. I came to see him. Not you." Alex crossed his arms, shooting a warning look in the direction of Mark the sexy plastic surgeon. "Touch her again, and I'll break your fingers off one by one."

"You're hot, but not that hot," Mark cast her one last grin before tossing a fifty in Joe's direction. She watches as he retreats.

"He was my friend," she whined. Damn Alex. He ruined everything. "He was going to tell me why that woman said what she said. You know what I want, so why don't give it me? What kind of woman says that!"

"I don't know," Alex murmured, slipping an arm under her arm. "Why don't you tell me though? On the way home."

She allowed him to lead her from the bar, to settle her in the passenger seat of his car. The car was nice. Soft leather seats. Plush carpeting. Even smelled nice. It smelled new. She kicks her shoes off, wiggling her toes in the softness of the carpet. The silence was to much, making her eye lids droopy. Sighing, she reaches over to flip the radio on, hitting buttons until she found a song she liked. With tequila braced bravery, she sang along. When he helped from the car and up the steps she continued to sing. When he led her into the house, past a shocked George and a brooding Preston, she still sang. The words died off as he gently let her fall back on the bed. Mumbling good night, she curled up, reminding herself to ask him about the woman in Los Angles. It wasn't a coincidence. Denny's mystery woman was from the same place Alex lived. He knew. Whatever secrets Denny had, Alex knew. 


	6. Chapter 6

-1_Your friends miss you. A lot. George almost joined you today. I got a phone call from Preston. Apparently your pal George stole my death by sleeping pill idea. He took seven of the little buggers, chasing them with Vodka. Preston found him in time, though._

When I asked him why he did it, he told me it was because it was his fault that you died. He knew the river currents were stronger than usual, that taking a raft down the fork you wanted to take was to dangerous. He didn't tell you because he knew you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't have either. All so determined to do things your way. Why did I never notice that before? That you liked having your way. Is that why you didn't tell me about your daughter? Where you afraid I wouldn't want to be with you? I would have. I will always want to be with you. I will miss you.

Your friends are planning memorials for you. Did you know that? George has this fishing trip all planned out. You would love it. I agreed to go. I know. Go on. Laugh. Me. Fishing. A real haha moment if there was one! Who knows, maybe I'll surprise everyone and actually participate. Preston is planting a peace garden behind the office. The Denny Duquette Memorial Garden. Not sure it is really your thing, but his heart is in the right place. They're going to break ground today. We all promised to go. George. Me. Alex. I'm starting to get it, by the way. You and Alex. Maybe I was wrong about him. Will have to get back to you on that, though.

They had left. Alex and Preston had left. Leaving her to try and rouse George. Ha. Like he was going to wake anytime soon. Staring at George's prone form a moment longer, she shakes her head. If she hadn't been so lost in her own misery she would have seen his. Perhaps prevented the over dose. Toying with the end of her long ponytail she jogs down the stairs, taking them two at time. She had no real desire to go, yet had no reason not to. It was for Denny. Preston wanted to do this for Denny.

Reaching into the back pocket of her faded jeans, Izzie pulls her car keys out. As she fumbles with them the sound of heels clicking on cement and a video game of some sort give her pause. She looks up to find a petite woman with long wavy red hair walking toward her, holding the hand of a little girl no more than three. The woman kept looking at a scrap of paper in her hand, then at the numbers on the houses. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," the woman breathed. There was something familiar about her voice. "I'm not from here and I am completely lost." Next to her the child continued pushing buttons on the hand held game, making bleeps and bells go off. "Does it never shut up? Here. Let me have it." Taking the game offered up by the wide eyed child, she stuffed it into an oversized purse. A mommy purse, Izzie mused. "I'm looking for Denny Duquette's house."

The blood slowly drained from her face. This was her. This was the woman. The mother of his child. Child. Her gaze swung to girl. "How old is your daughter? Is she….maybe eight? Maybe a really, really small, under developed eight year old?"

"Oh Good lord no. Emily's only three. Isn't that right honey. Show the pretty lady how old you are." On command the girl held up three sticky fingers, a smile spreading across her face. Denny's smile.

"They're not home. That's their house. Only nobody is there." She was rambling. What else was she to do? The child was only three. Three. Denny had cheated on her. Cheated! "I can give them a message if you like."

"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry…um…who are you? A neighbor?" The woman blew a stray strawberry curl from her face. The child tugged at her hand, whining a bit. "Hold on sweetie. Mommy is busy right now, okay?"

"No. I…I'm the cleaning lady." The cleaning lady? In a silk cowl neck halter and three inch heels? Not hardly. She hadn't known what else to say. The woman seemed to buy it though. She wasn't questioning it.

"Well let me get you my card. I'm staying at the Ferry View Inn. Its down by the Pier. Not to far from the Marketplace." The woman started digging through her monstrous purse. A zip lock bag of teddy bear shaped cookies. A bottle of water. A purple bra with green and yellow daisies on it. A disposable camera. Finally, she withdrew a bright yellow card. "Here. If you could have some one call…that would great." Izzie took the card. Olivia Drewry. Massage therapist. Los Angeles, California. "Come on baby. Say goodbye to the nice lady." The little girl with Denny's smile waved goodbye.

Izzie waved back, stunned. Denny's child. Denny's three year old child. Conceived and born after he had met her. "Eight going on nine my ass," she hissed, yanking her car door open. Someone had a lot of explaining to do. Since the man who should be doing wasn't available, she would settle on the only other one who seemed to have the answers. Alex. 


End file.
